


Entanglement

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Couch Sex, F/M, Introspection, Light Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: No, he couldn’t give her everything she wanted, but he could give her this.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 18
Kudos: 95





	Entanglement

**Author's Note:**

> Very obliged to [nonelvis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis) for patient and thorough betaing, and keeping me honest. And sorry I keep saying "I'm back," and then disappearing again for year/s. My bad.

It was late on the TARDIS, by his companion’s reckoning of time anyway, and he was restless. Not physically, not exactly. He was actually quite tired and he knew he should try to sleep—it had been a few days—but he didn’t really feel like his thoughts would quiet down enough for that. 

But it didn’t do well for him to be alone, either. And though Rose was around, not too far down the hall, it was thoughts of her that were troubling him now. Because he felt… _knew_ that she’d be gone from him soon. He didn’t want to dwell on that, but in the quiet of night on his ship, it seemed his mind was set on dwelling. 

She’d gone to bed hours ago, leaving him to his own devices, so here he was reading by firelight on the couch in the library. Doing his best to relax, he’d kicked off his shoes and pulled off his tie a while ago, and was just passing the time before Rose woke and brightened up his day, more than she could realize. It helped to have a human around. To be bound to their rhythms. And he was, bound to her. 

And tonight, he couldn’t get his mind off her. Not just the eventual loss of her. That was a given. But he’d also known from nearly the very beginning that his relationship with Rose would eventually, for better or worse, shift to something different, more. Even if he hadn’t always admitted it to himself. She knew too, he was sure. Random strangers knew, even in his last body. _When you say ‘companion,’ is this a sexual relationship?_ And when he regenerated, it became even more sure. Before he’d even really known who he was, he knew he _wanted_ her. 

He hadn’t known how it would happen. Who would eventually instigate. Whether she would get tired of waiting, of her hints falling on seemingly deaf ears, or if he would give up the thin pretense of them being just mates. He couldn’t pretend to himself, and often thought of the different scenarios he _probably_ wouldn’t act on. Sometimes he imagined cheerful clichés, a moment of mutual pining and tension breaking simultaneously—a joke leading to pointed silence, the meeting of eyes, then a snog. Sometimes, a little too often perhaps, he wanted to dispense with all the niceties. He wondered if she’d like it, if he took her roughly, against the console, a TARDIS strut, any door, or if she’d prefer slow and sweet. 

He only knew it felt inevitable. Which didn’t make it a good idea. He wasn’t like her. He couldn’t live or love like she needed. He couldn’t ever give her the things she wanted. And Rose not realising that—because even after years of traveling the stars, she was still so young, and so naive and so human—that made it even worse. He knew all the reasons it was wrong. If their feelings, their desire, were acknowledged openly, he knew how much more painful it would be for him when she left. And how much worse her heartbreak would be. And that maybe, he was going to do it anyway. 

As it turned out, it was Rose who started it. 

And really, he _should_ have known. She’d apparently grown tired of their game. In the end she was entirely direct. And as darkly prescient as he was feeling, this he could not have predicted.

There could be no finishing the page he’d been in the middle of once he heard her enter. He could almost hear the determination in her step, sense her resolve before he even looked up. Even if he didn’t consciously know her intent until the moment he did. 

She stood directly in front of him, the front of her bare calves nearly touching his knees. She was fresh from a bath, her hair still slightly damp, her skin glowing in the light of the fireplace. She wore a short dressing gown he’d never seen before, dark silk, he thought, an indeterminate pattern of barely-there swirls. When she shifted her stance as his eyes travelled up her body, he gathered she was likely wearing nothing else. 

He drew in a harsh quick breath. And then swallowed when his eyes met hers. 

What he saw there nearly made his hearts skip beats. Rose had never turned seductive eyes on him. Not on purpose. Pleading, flirting, she’d made him putty in her hands in other ways, but this dark, leveling gaze that said _I want you, right now_? Never. But he recognized for what it was immediately, as did his body. 

While he’d been debating the merits of romantic entanglement, she’d been, apparently, planning seduction. Well, he supposed, her timing was impeccable. 

“Hi,” was all she said. 

“Rose, are you—?” 

“Yeah. I am.”

She inched a bit closer, and his hands automatically flew up to her waist to steady her, lest she stumble. Their combined slight movements caused the barely-holding-on knot at her waist to fall undone, and oh yes, she was very naked beneath the dressing gown. He tried not to become mesmerised by her body, all on display, shamelessly, deliberately, because she knew he’d probably never act otherwise.

And now his hands were on her; he could feel the warmth of her skin, knew it would be so simple to let this happen. He wanted it, his hearts did, figuratively and otherwise, sending more of his blood further south. And really, what good would it do them now, to hold to their status quo? They were together in most ways but this one already, weren’t they? 

Slowly, he shifted his hands, and returned them to the same spot, only under her robe this time. No, he couldn’t give Rose everything she wanted, but he could give her this. 

“All right then,” he said, simply. 

“Yeah?” She was surprised, no doubt, that it had been that easy. He wondered if she’d perhaps expected rejection. The smile blooming on her face was quickly replaced by a little _whoop_ of shock as he tugged her closer, inadvertently causing her to lose her footing and end up in his lap. “Oh…” she said, her eyes widening as she settled herself astride him, “I guess so then.” 

He knew she expected him to duck his head, to joke about it, or to otherwise be embarrassed by his body’s evident and growing reaction to her, prompted, apparently, by just a flash of skin and a lustful gaze, but instead he just kissed her. 

Hard and without hesitation, he moulded his lips to hers, and when she invited entry for his tongue he obliged, sweeping in and tasting her. He knew his reasons, but just now it seemed a bit pointless to have denied himself this simple pleasure all this time. So he didn’t deserve her. So he feared the consequences of his actions. Those things usually didn’t stop him from doing, well, anything, really.

Hands back at her hips, he guided her in rocking herself against him. It felt almost more lewd this way, cunt against the cotton of his trousers, than if they’d both already been naked, and she certainly seemed to appreciate it as well. She thrust her hands into his hair for purchase, tugging at the strands, electrifying him with all their points of contact, and when she groaned against his mouth, he let the pure, primal sound wash over him. It couldn’t be a bad thing, to be desired, when it felt this good. 

He released her mouth, intending to kiss more of her, to touch her elsewhere, her neck, the tempting pink of her nipples, between her legs, anywhere he could to ensure she would be quickly ready to finish this. 

“Nuh-uh,” she whispered, manoeuvring his head back into place by his hair and kissing him again. She let go of him to move his wandering hands back to her hips. All right, more snogging it was, then. 

But she also soon became impatient, and began tackling his clothing. She undid several buttons on his shirt, only to become annoyed that his vest was between her and his skin, judging by the frustrated noises she made against him while still trying to keep up their kissing.

She abandoned his shirts and moved to his trousers, tugging at the fastenings ineffectually before she presumably gave up multi-tasking and tore her mouth from his. He held still and allowed her to do what she would. Without the distraction of snogging, she was able to deftly undo his trousers, but before she touched him any more intimately, she stopped.

“You’re sure, yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and smiled in a way he thought she might find devastating. 

Then with the hands on her hips, he urged her to sit up a bit, before letting her go and shimmying his trousers and pants past his hips, and past her, just enough. Her eyes darted to his and then dropped to his cock, as if for a moment, she couldn’t decide where to begin. Then carefully, slowly, she slid forward, experimentally drawing her wetness along him. She gasped in pleasure. 

Her eyes slid shut as she repeated the movement. And again several more times until they were nearly already fucking, and it seemed to him by her enthusiasm that she could come just like this. But just as he was beginning to think that was her goal, and was trying to decide whether he was pleased or disappointed at the prospect, she shifted her hips a touch, put one hand briefly between them, and he was sliding inside.

And then she smiled at him, her wicked, pleased grin, and in earnest, she began to move.

Slowly at first, adjusting, he supposed, since he was fairly certain she hadn’t had sex in years. He hadn’t meant to turn Rose into a nun, exactly, but he had been selfish and jealous. And she loved him, and shunned others who could have taken care of this need with her. Add it to the list of things he felt guilty over. It wasn’t such a terrible sin as they go, he thought.

It had been a very long time since he’d done this too. And longer still since he had done with someone he cared about like he did Rose. He wanted to focus on the here and now, to be with her in this, to delight in the amazing sensations he felt, to groan with her as she sped up, show her how much he wanted this. But though he met her movements, though his body was reporting back on the delicious friction, he still found it difficult to escape his own head. 

She seemed to have no such trouble. She moved on him with abandon, her thighs flexing impressively as she worked to come, breasts bouncing, slight sheen of sweat illuminated by the low light of the fire, her hair flying wildly, her cries echoing against the books on the walls. 

He wondered if she knew how lovely she was.

He clutched at her hip a little harder, lifted his beneath her a little more sharply. She made a soft whimpering sound and her rhythm faltered, and he supposed that meant she was close.

She threw her arms around his neck, and the change in angle was apparently enough for her, because soon her inner muscles began to flutter around him, and her hips slowed and then jittered to stop.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled into his neck, as her orgasm overtook her, probably barely registering what she was saying. “I love you.”

_Oh Rose_. 

He closed his eyes and moaned, attempted to seem overwhelmed by physical sensation. 

He felt strangely awkward after her shudders stopped. She was still except for her ragged breaths as she came down from her high. He was afraid to move. He wanted to, of course he did, but knew she would be sensitive. And he wasn’t human; she could get up and leave now if she wanted, and he’d be fine. Probably wouldn’t even need to finish himself off. Maybe. And if she was content, well, then that was enough. 

“Doctor?” she said after a minute.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Yes?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.” He almost meant it.

She raised up off him with a hiss. “I want you to take off the rest of your clothes,” she said slowly, an order. “Please?” she added, and it was the first time he’d seen a hint of wavering. Like asking him to completely shed this armor of his clothing was somehow a step too far. 

But her mask slipped back immediately. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

He raised an eyebrow. What had they been doing? But, he supposed, she had been more in the driver’s seat, so to speak. And as she laid back against the couch cushions, the dark robe covering one breast and nothing else, looking much like some sort of contented burlesque star, all but crooking a finger at him, he understood.

He followed the first part of her instructions without much hesitation then, standing and quickly losing trousers and shirt and vest. When he stood before her nude, she let one leg dangle off the edge of the sofa, exposing herself, glistening wet. With his eyes on her, waiting for him with such naked, open desire and trust, he felt something in him shift, that final piece clicking into place. They could _both_ have this. And right now, all he wanted was to be back inside her, and damn all the rest.

He climbed over her, hastily shoving aside the silk robe she somehow still wore, for the first time feeling all of her skin against him, his arms around her shoulders, cock resting against her heat, her breasts pressed between their bodies. He breathed in her scent, let it properly wash over him, marking this memory they were making with it. 

Then he lifted up, kissed her again until she groaned into his mouth and moved restlessly beneath him. Shifting his hips, he reached down, getting into place, and then drove home in a single thrust.

Her moan then was perfect, poetry.

_Fuck_ , he thought, finally allowing himself a full, proper groan, and a moment to feel every inch of her gripping him tightly, before immediately pulling back, pushing back in and quickly setting a rapid rythym. She felt incredible. So slick and human-hot, and he’d been so distracted before... by her, for her, by his own inner ramblings. Wasting this gift like he had done so many others. 

Her legs wrapped around him as he drove into her, her hands clutched at his back, his arse, urging him on, calling out things he barely caught as he strove for completion. “Harder,” he thought she said, and “more,” and several times again, “oh god.” 

He was blindly chasing his release, lost in her, there was nothing but movement, synapses ablaze with fire, the taste of her, reveling in building pressure, pleasure, feeling, three hearts, blood rushing, so close, Rose, Rose, _Rose_. 

Then, supernova. 

He saw it, just for a moment, with the clarity of a vision, burning in startling color behind his eyes as climax rushed through him and he emptied into her. 

He came to himself quickly after that, and with the fading pleasure, doubt and fear and guilt threatened to return in a flood if he let them. Instead, he simply rested against her, his head pillowed on her chest, listening to her breathing slow. 

Soon, her hands drifted into his hair again, gently stroking through the strands, and he felt something approaching contentment. Were it not for their positions on a too-small couch, he thought he might be able to consider sleep.

“You all right?” she asked after a moment.

“Mmm,” he affirmed into her skin.

“You’ve been quiet. I expected… you know,” he felt her wave her hand around above his head, “a lot of talking.”

“During…?”

“Yeah,” she gave a short little laugh. “And before, and after.”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like talking.” 

“Which is why I asked if you were all right.”

“Oh, you know me,” he said brightly, lifting his head and giving her a smile he hoped she wouldn’t see behind. He didn’t want to offend her and it wouldn’t do well to drag Rose into the thoughts he’d been having. He’d already told her there was a storm coming, and maybe that’s what made her come in here so boldly, nearly naked, tonight. She didn’t need to know what he couldn’t even put into proper words.

“Maybe,” she mused. 

Sometimes he forgot how observant she was. And how in tune with him, if on a less than conscious level.

“Tell me why,” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why tonight, like this?” He gestured at the dressing gown, now bunched beneath them. He shifted just enough to slip out of her, and he wondered idly if the silk would be stained.

“I…” she started to speak and then trailed off, as if wondering how much she should say. “I had a dream. I was alone somewhere, everything was gray... I don’t really remember, I dunno, a beach, maybe.” 

He pondered this. It didn’t sound like a sexy dream.

“I dunno,” she said again, continuing. “But when I woke up, I just… I needed you. All of you.”

He breathed in, perhaps a little more sharply than he intended. Rose wouldn’t have all of him. Couldn’t. The one time she’d got close, she’d nearly burned.

“You have me,” he said anyway. And found her hand, twining their fingers together.

FIN


End file.
